In a war, there are no winners, only suffering.

Yesterday I watched a TV series titled ''The Pacific''.

It depicts the last few years of the second World War

as it played out in the Pacific area.

How ''real'' or close to real the depiction was, this I have no idea of,

but for me it was real enough to make me google

how many casualties there were in the Pacific War. 

Including all countries involved: 36 million.

How accurate that number is, I don't know, but I can't 

help but wonder if it includes all the people not part of
the armed personnel who were affected by that war.

When peace eventually came and one side was declared a ''winner'',

did the war really stop?

As I understand it, it is hard for a mind that has had to endure

the ravages of war in any capacity to ''move on''.

Flashbacks, often horrific and incredibly scary may befall us all

more or less, regardless of whether we were on the winning or

the losing side of a war.

When a soldier/nurse/doctor/etc. returns home from a war, does he/she leave 

the war behind or does he/she bring some of it home with him/her?

Is it even possible for a human being to experience any kind

of a traumatic event without it leaving indelible marks on

his/her well-being?

Chatting with a war vet in a chat room about PTSD, he had this to say:

''PTSD is not an illness, rather it is a ''healthy'' response to an event

(or events) that is detrimental and or harmful to a person's well-being''.

Considering his words for a few days I concluded that there was merit to his words.

How ''healthy'' would I consider someone who is able to bully, punch, hit, kill, 

maim, blow up, bomb, etc.etc. others without any compunction?

Not terribly healthy at all.

In my view, there are ''wars'' being fought as a matter of human existence

everyday and everywhere, although the ''arenas'' may vary:

in homes, on the internet, in schools, on phones, at work, in clubs,

in pubs, on sports fields/arenas, in the streets, in car parks, at parties,

on the roads, on public transportation's, in hospitals, etc.etc.

Where humans are, conflict seem to follow.

Makes me wonder, if in 50 years or so, will PTSD 

(Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) be as common as the common cold?

After the war in the Pacific ended, the soldiers went home. 

Some of them in body bags, some of them with body parts missing,

some of them with their wits missing, but one thing they all brought

home with them from the war was flashbacks.

Flashbacks of things that they had seen and experienced.

Regardless of what kind of ''arena'' a ''war'' is being fought in,

the outcome seem to always bring with it suffering.

But,

thankfully, nowadays we have a deeper understanding

and a clearer insight into some of the effects that

often accompany traumatic experiences.

Maybe this understanding can help us to view others

who have had to flee their homes due to wars, famines,

natural disasters, poverty, etc.etc. with compassion

and kindness in favour over suspicion.

''All war is a symptom of man's failure

as a thinking animal.'' (John Steinbeck)

''I do not know with what weapons World War III 

will be fought,

but I do know that World War IV will be fought

with rocks.'' (Albert Einstein)

''In a war, there are no winners,

only suffering.'' (Citizen Z)

Pain has no age limit........

The door opened. She looked up from behind her book.
''Now what? Who was it this time who came into the book store
and asked for an e-book,'' she muttered under her breath.
Letting out a sigh she put down her book on the counter, 
stood up and said: ''Can I help you?''
Only, she couldn't see anybody.
''Hmm, I am sure I heard someone come in, now
 where might they have disappeared to'', she said to herself as
she started to walk up and down the narrow aisles in the book
store.
Strange. Whoever it was seemed to have just vanished.
At the back of the shop there was a cosy corner for
the customers to withdraw to. Aggy, had decided that in his shop,
customers should be able to browse the books before they bought
them, so he had made a cosy corner for them to do so in comfort.
She made her way to the cosy corner.
There, sitting on the worn leather couch, sat a small girl clutching
a big bag.
''Hey, what's your name then?'' she asked the girl as she gently
sat down on one of the armrests on the couch.
The girl didn't answer, instead she clutched her bag closer to her chest.
''It's okay, I'll just tell you my name. 
My name is Isabel and I look after this shop.
Can I help you find a book perhaps?" she asked softly.
The little girl shook her head.
''This girl can't be more than eight or something, 
what's she doing here all by herself?'' Isabel wondered.
''Are you here all by yourself then?''
The little girl nodded.
''I see, having an adventure are you?''
A few minutes passed and then suddenly the little girl spoke.
''No, I'm not. I have run away from home,'' said the little girl.
''Oh, I see, and why is that then?'' Isabel asked.
''My name is Tiffy, I am nine years old, and I am not stupid!
I have run away from home because all they do at home is fight.
Fight, fight, fight! When they are not fighting, all they do is
play with their phones. I hate those things. 
When I try to tell them something, they never listen to me
 no matter how hard I try to get their attention. 
Yesterday when I came home from school, I tried to tell them that
Ruthie and Bianca always tease me, they call me stupid, and sometimes
they hit me. I was even crying! But mom just kept talking
on her phone and Billy called me a crybaby.
It's not fair!!'' said Tiffy as her bottom lip quivered and tears began
 to slowly roll down her cheeks.
''Why did you chose to run away to this book shop, Tiffy?'' asked Isabel.
''Cos I love books, especially books that are happy. Books about
nice people, nice places, about dreams that can come true, and where
people don't pick on you just cos you love books more than
those stupid phones!''
Tiffy dropped her bag on the floor, crossed her arms and looked at
Isabel with eyes sparkling with defiance.
''You know what Tiffy, I ran away from home once too when I was about your age.
''Did you?'' Tiffy asked, ''for real?''
''Yep, just like you, I was also picked on in school, called stupid, strange,
and not normal. I tried to tell my mom and dad just like you, but they
didn't seem to hear me either. For me, music was what made me happy.
Music opened a world for me to escape to when I needed to
get away from hurtful words and feeling as if I was invisible.''
''Isabel?''
''Yes, Tiffy?''
''Why am I not more important to my mom and dad than their phones, and
why do they fight all the time?''
Isabel looked at Tiffy and then decided that she needed to give her a hug.
''Can I please hug you Tiffy?''
Tiffy nodded.
Isabel wrapped her arms around the little girl, pulled her close,
and there they sat, close together in a warm embrace. 
Sharing a timeless moment of feeling seen, heard,
and cared for.


I guess that on some level we all know that life at times
bares with it a measure of pain. For some of us, that knowledge
perhaps comes earlier in life than for others. For some of us that
measure may be larger and or heavier than for others.
But where there is life, there is often pain of some kind or another,
 ....... for all that is alive.
In my view, the paramount question we may need to ask
ourselves is not how to escape pain, but how we can
use it for some sort of gain
as in:
Insight, compassion, wisdom, tolerance, acceptance,
forgiveness, kindness, etc.etc.
Through my life experiences, I have come to view pain this way:
''Joy is a friend, but pain is a teacher.'' (Citizen Z)

(I have a feeling that most of us have ''scars'' (both physical and mental)
 remaining from times when we have been hurt,
although perhaps not quite as
obvious as depicted in the painting above.)

On heartbreak...a perspective

Laying in the bathtub, she tries to hide her aging body beneath soap bubbles.

The small bathroom is filled with flickering candles, discarded clothing,

 and half dried towels.

Managing to hold back her tears, she takes a hesitant sip from her glass of wine.

Although submerged in hot water, a chill sweeps through her body as

she swallows the wine.

She feels like a fool, a failure, she feels betrayed, she feels lost,

she feels as if her whole life was a life built on lies.

She scolds her self for having been so naive, so trusting, and so clueless.

Right under her nose, and for seven years he had been unfaithful.

How did she miss it?

With trembling fingers she reaches out for her glass of wine and

although the smell of the wine makes her feel bilious, she

drinks it all down.

How can he do this to her? And with her best friend at that.

For seven years they have been sneaking around, having secret meetings,

probably laughing at how clueless she has been of their affair.

She feels insulted, betrayed, and angry with herself for

not having noticed what obviously had been going on

right under her nose.

She thinks back of how she used to do ball room dancing, 

and she was good at it too, but how she fell pregnant early in their 

marriage and from then on it was all about him and his career.

She had to let her dreams of becoming a dancer evaporate

and instead concentrate on supporting him as he studied, traveled,

lectured, taught, and flew here, there, and every where

for weeks on end and across the country.

She minded their child, cooked, baked, cleaned, joined the PTA,

played tennis with the ladies, served tea and scones at charity events, 

took care of his dry cleaning, managed elaborate dinner 

parties for his colleagues, took the car for regular servicing,

but somewhere amidst it all,.... she lost herself.

She feels so angry and sad that she can hardly breathe.

What had it all been for?

30 years of marriage. All gone with one sentence: ''I want a divorce.''

The look on his face. She will never forget it.

In an instant he became a stranger. He certainly ceased to be

her husband and best friend in the time space of a single breath.

She desperately wants to open the floodgates and let out all of her

tears, but she just can't. 

''Come on, just cry for heavens sake! What the hell is wrong

with you, why can't you cry all of a sudden?!!!'' she tells herself.

But nothing happens.

Her eyes are burning, her head thumping, her back aching,

and her heart? Does she even have one any more or

is it broken into so many pieces that it no longer is a heart?

She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and just listens,

.... listens to the unfamiliar sounds of a city that is not

her city.

The water in the bathtub is no longer hot, candle wax have

begun to find its way down to the bathroom floor, and she

has finished the wine.

''I should get out'' she says to herself but somehow she

doesn't seem to be able to do so.

Slowly she opens her eyes. The bubbles are all gone and

the water looks tired and sad.

A gentle knock on the door stirs her into action.

''Lilian? Are you okay? Can I come in?''

Her sister enters the bathroom with a worried look on

her face.

She stands up, gets out of the tub,

grabs a towel and wraps it around her body.

Her sister looks at her, then walks up to her and

embraces her.

With her sister's arms around her, the floodgates suddenly

burst open. She begins to cry. 

She cries for love lost, for years lost, for dreams lost,

for trust lost.

She cries for what was, for what she thought she knew,

she cries for a world of uncertainty that now lay before her.

A world she now faces alone.

''Pain is an opportunity for us to resurrect our true selves.''

(Unknown)

(ps. this is not my story, but it's a story I have heard many times)